My angel, my devil
by dragon-chan2
Summary: Reflections on Omi and Yohji's relationship (or lack thereof) via a series of Omi's memories. Songfic, angst, general sadness.


Konnichiwa minna-san! 'Tis I, dragon-chan, writing yet another rather depressing songfic to a Savage Garden song. ^_^ this one is to "Tears of Pearl", a very pretty song that just made me think of Yohji whenever I heard it. So one day I wrote this, and promptly forgot about it, and I found it again today and uploaded it for your viewing pleasure ^_^  
  
Um, disclaimer, I own neither Savage Garden nor the Weiss boys, much to my sadness, since there would be much fun between all of them if I did. *sighs*  
  
Hope you like it… if you do, please hit that lil review button down there *grin* I'll love you forever! And now… on to the angst! We take you on another trip to the dark and depressing mind of everyone's favorite seventeen-year-old-boy-who-looks-like-a-twelve-year-old-girl, ooooooommmmiiii!  
  
  
  
  
  
He is my angel. My angel and my demon. He is my brightest hope and my darkest nightmare. He is my love. He will never love me.  
  
~And we stare each other down like victims in the grind  
  
Probing all the weaknesses and hurt still left behind and we cry  
  
The tears of pearls~  
  
He sits on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen. I know he does not see it. He sees what I see. He sees the blood spilling from our victims' bodies. He sees it spread across the shiny black floor and cover everything. He sees the stains it leaves on his heart. He turns his eyes to meet mine and I see the blood reflected in them. I know he does. I know he feels the weight of every death on his soul. I know he will cry tonight. I know he will not sleep, that he will lie in bed wracked by guilt too violent to allow anything else through. I know that as well as I know he will never admit it. He will never cry in front of me.  
  
~Is love really the tragedy the way you might describe?  
  
Or would a thousand lovers still leave you cold inside? ~  
  
He staggers in after another night at the bar. He has been with a woman. I can smell her, her cheap perfume. The scent of sex is heavy on the air. Yet he is not happy. He refuses to admit that he doesn't enjoy the sex, that he stopped enjoying it a long time ago. It's a routine now, a routine that would require re-evaluation of his entire being to break. It is far easier to accept the fleeting heavy-handed lust as happiness. Far easier to pretend he does not want something else. Something far harder to obtain.  
  
He stared at me, an inane grin on his face. But even as the alcohol flows through his blood, blocking neurotransmitters and keeping the thoughts away, the smile does not quite reach his eyes. He probably doesn't even notice. He probably doesn't even know what true happiness is. For that matter, neither do I. But I know that he isn't happy, even if he doesn't.  
  
~Make you cry…  
  
These tears of pearls  
  
All these mixed emotions  
  
We keep locked away like stolen pearls~  
  
He wakes sweating in the middle of the night. He stumbles out into the street, shaking a cigarette clumsily out of the carton. He lights it, takes a deep drag, and throws it convulsively into the gutter. The tip glows as he walks away, his sobs echoing in the quiet street.  
  
~Stolen pearl devotions we keep locked away from all the world  
  
Your kisses are like pearls, so different and so rare  
  
But anger stole the jewels away and love has left you bare,  
  
Made you cry…  
  
These tears of pearl~  
  
He will never utter the word "love". He screams obscenities to the entire immediate universe when he stubs his toe on the corner of the sofa, but I have never heard "love" pass through his lips. He flirts with anything that is over eighteen and has a heartbeat, but he never claims to love them. And yet once a month he disappears with a bouquet of flowers. I followed him as far as the gate of the cemetery once. I left him there. He didn't come back for hours, and for once, he didn't smell like alcohol and sex.  
  
~Well I could be the tired joker pour my heart to get you in  
  
Sacrifice my happiness just so I could win~  
  
I grin at him after a long day. I tell stupid jokes, hardly recognizing my voice as it chatters incessantly. I am sure he is no more fooled by the prattle as I am, but he smiles anyway. To make me feel better. But his smile wears thin, and my heart crumbles as the too-wide grin he puts on to satisfy "the chibi" fades. I try again. Surely he must smile someday…  
  
But not today. Again, the smile does not reach his eyes, and again I babble until we are both sick of my voice. Then he gets off the couch and leaves, leaves with barely a word to the kid sitting on the sofa. Too wrapped up in his problems to notice me… he can't see through the thick haze he's made around his life. He leaves again, and I cry again, helpless sobs wracking my frame sometimes, a few silent tears slipping down me cheeks sometimes. Sometimes I don't cry just then, I keep myself busy with making food and watching TV, but then sometime I have to go to sleep, and then I think of him again, and I cry. But I'm not crying for me. I'm crying for him. Because he can't love. Doesn't even think he needs to. And I know he's wrong. I guess I know him better than he knows himself.  
  
So I cry for him. And I know they would all tell me that he doesn't deserve me, that I'm too good for him or some other shit like that. But I guess those rules are made for people who don't have jobs that require murder on a daily basis. I don't really think I'm so great that he doesn't deserve me. He does. And I deserve him. Deserve him with all his faults and all his shortcomings, because I can heal him. I can make him whole again. And if I can do that for him, then maybe something will happen for me too. Or not, but he'll still be happy. And that will make me happy. What's wrong with that?  
  
~We twist and turn where angels burn  
  
Like fallen soldiers we will learn  
  
That once forgotten, twice removed  
  
Love will be the death…  
  
The death of you~  
  
He strides out of the burning building. A security guard runs out of his barracks, and then writhes with pain as he is gunned down by one of our snipers. The man is reflected in Yohji's eyes, and his lips unconsciously form a name. "A…su…ka.."  
  
He controls himself again, seemingly indifferent to the carnage around him. The carnage he helped to create. As he walks out of the burning building, the flames wreath his head and forms a fiery halo. Blood drips in his wake.  
  
He is my angel. My devil. He will never be mine. 


End file.
